


How to Get Away With Puking on Bashir

by Right_hand_boi



Category: Transplant (TV 2020)
Genre: Vomiting, a little bit of Bags aka Mash, but be careful y'all, heed my warning, not descriptive though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Right_hand_boi/pseuds/Right_hand_boi
Summary: Mags gets sick, and Bashir and Theo look after her.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 20





	How to Get Away With Puking on Bashir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoja/gifts), [MR01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MR01/gifts), [hc_for_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hc_for_me/gifts), [Lazcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazcat/gifts).



> Kids, there is PUKING. Be careful if that isn't your thing. Take care.

“You aren’t looking so hot,” Theo says to Mags as they relax in the loungeroom.

Indeed, she does not. Her hair, which is usually neatly tied in a half-do, is sloppily thrown back in a ponytail. Sweat beads on her forehead despite how cold she is. Her slumped posture screams _exhausted_.

“Aw, thanks Theo,” she croaks. Theo winces at how raspy her voice is. Mags shivers violently. “My shift ends in a few hours. I’ll take a nap later.”

Mags’s head pounds. Has the overhead light always been this piercing? She rests her head on the table in front of her and clumsily searches her pocket for her Tylenol.

With practiced moves, Mags removes the Tylenol from the baggie she had placed it in earlier and downs it with some coffee, all with her eyes firmly shut. She rubs her temples, willing the clock to move faster.

Her eyes snap open when a cold hand touches her forehead. She hisses in pain at the bright light and clenches her eyes shut again. While her body is freezing, her head is boiling, and the hand eases the searing heat a little. “That’s nice, Theo,” she hums, leaning in. Too quickly, his hand warms, and she blindly grabs his other one and places it on her face. She relaxes. Too much. She falls towards the floor.

Theo catches Mags easily, frowning at the heat emanating from his friend as she shoves her head into his chest to savour the brief coolness his shirt provides. She shivers, and he briskly runs his hands over her arms to warm her up.

Mags doesn’t want to move. Theo’s clothes are heavenly on her overheated face, but she’s so _cold!_ She needs her sweater; she had brought her warmest one socially acceptable for a spring day. Vaguely, she wonders if she has the energy to go to her locker and retrieve it.

She cracks an eye open. Blinding light reaches her eyes, shooting pain through her whole head. She perseveres, though, and measures the distance she’ll have to travel. It’s not _too_ far. She’ll make it. Probably.

Or maybe not. Theo’s dragging her to a couch. That’s fine by her because she is _so tired._ She’ll rest for a minute and get her sweater later.

They reach the couch. Mags flops down, wincing when the sudden movement makes her head swim. She curls into a miserable ball to conserve her body heat. She’ll have to get that sweater sooner rather than later.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Theo half leads, half drags Mags to a couch. She’s totally out of it and her head lolls limply on her neck. Once she’s lying down, he pulls out his phone and dials Dr. Bishop’s office.

He picks up on the first ring. “Dr. Bishop’s office.”

“I think Mags is sick. Really sick,” Theo tells him. “To be honest, she can’t work.”

“Where are you? Can you bring her to my office?”

Theo glances back at the couch, nearly dropping his phone when Mags isn’t there and he sees her leaning heavily on a locker and about to fall. “Uh… be right with you,” he says, then hastily shoves his phone in his pocket and rushes to her side.

In his office, Dr. Bishop waits patiently. He doesn’t hear anything for a long moment.

Then, “Mags. Mags, what are you doing?” Theo is asking.

“’S cold,” he hears Mags slur out. “Need my sweater.”

Nothing for another long moment.

Metallic screeching. He pulls the phone away from his ear with a wince. _We really need to update those lockers_ , he muses.

Theo comes back on. “Sorry about that. Mags is getting her sweater and I’m making sure she doesn’t fall.”

“I’ll be right over,” Dr. Bishop assures him. He’s assuming they’re in the loungeroom by the metallic screeching. Without waiting for a response, he hangs up and grabs the blanket from under his desk before heading out.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Mags slumps against the lockers. She had _seriously_ overestimated her ability to move. She’s too drained to continue. She squeezes her eyes against the harsh light. It helps a bit. But it also makes the floor sway, so she has to carefully open them. She whimpers. Her head is simultaneously trying to squeeze her brain out through her eyes and stab it back in with steak knives. _Why are the meds taking so long to work??_

She had definitely gotten up too quickly, too soon. But, damnit, it’s _freezing!_ Mags should be able to see her breath. Her teeth chatter and she flinches as the frigid metal saps up her precious body heat.

With trembling legs, she leans on the lockers more. She fears that her legs won’t hold her up much longer. She’s right. She starts sliding to the ground.

Before she falls too low, strong arms wrap around her waist and hoist her up. She inhales the fresh scent of lavender and moss. It’s Theo.

“Mags. Mags, what are you doing?” he asks her.

She points in the general direction of her locker. “It’s _cold_ ,” she says plaintively. “I need my sweater.”

Theo leads Mags to her locker, keeping an arm around her to keep her upright. Bless him. By the time they reach her locker, he’s completely supporting her weight.

Mags fumbles with her locker, finally opening it on her third try. Theo is on his phone, but stops as her locker opens with a screech. She wobbles. Even Theo winces.

The chilly darkness of her locker sings to her. Mags puts her head in as far as it will go, resting her cheek against the blessedly cool metal.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Theo ends his call and can’t supress a fond smile at Mags shoving her head in her locker. He takes a picture to blackmail her with later then moves closer. Reaching over Mags’s shoulder, he blindly gropes around until soft fleece brushes his fingers.

He slips the sweater over Mags’s limp arms and tries to convince her to remove her head from the locker. She refuses, batting at him weakly.

Dr. Bishop enters the room, brow wrinkling in confusion when he sees Mags with her head in her locker and Theo lightly tugging at her, trying to remove her head from the locker. He had expected vomiting, unconsciousness, that sort of thing.

He lays a hand on her shoulder. “Mags, why don’t you lie down?” She groans, but slowly removes her head from the dark confines of her locker.

He takes in her pale, sweaty face and exhausted posture. He’s taken back to when Mags had collapsed under her stress a few months ago, and he’s sure she’ll collapse again. He takes her by the arm and leads her to a couch when Theo motions towards his phone.

“She should be at home, resting,” Dr. Bishop advises. “Could you bring her home? I can cover your patients.”

“Sounds good,” Theo responds before backing away and bringing his phone to his ear.

Dr. Bishop somehow gets to the couch. He sits down, pulling Mags’s head on his lap. He awkwardly tosses the blanket he’d brought over Mags’s shivering form. Dr. Bishop gently pulls out her messy ponytail and runs his fingers through her damp hair. She snuggles into the blanket and mashes her face into his stomach, making him recoil from the heat she’s radiating.

Theo comes back. “I’ve let Bash know. He’ll be expecting us.”

Mags moans, leaning away from Theo’s voice. Dr. Bishop quickly looks down and strokes her face. Before he can notice, Theo takes a picture.

Now here comes the hard part. Theo gently pries Mags from their boss, placing the blanket on a nearby chair. She shivers at the loss of warmth and grips Dr. Bishop’s coat weakly.

At the slight tug, Dr. Bishop glances down. Mags is gripping his coat with all her strength, which isn’t much. He slips a finger into Mags’s loose fist and gently releases her grip on his coat. Mags reaches out again, eyes shut. Dr. Bishop moves his coat and her fingers close on air. She whimpers softly, searching again.

Theo takes Mags in his arms and stands. Dr. Bishop stands as well, catching one of Mags’s searching hands and squeezes it reassuringly. She stills then, frowning and shivering. Dr. Bishop leans down and kisses her brow before stepping back and grabbing her belongings from her still-open locker.

All three of them wince at the grating screech of the locker closing. Mags flinches at the noise and clumsily slaps her hands over her ears. She quickly runs out of energy, her hands falling limply to her chest.

Once in the garage, Theo turns to Dr. Bishop. “Can you get my keys for me?” he asks. “They’re in my coat pocket.”

Dr. Bishop finds the keys and opts to unlock the car manually, inserting the key into the door. He doesn’t want Mags to throw up from the loud beep the car would make if he had simply pressed the unlock button on the key fob.

Together, the two men make quick work of getting Mags settled in the passenger seat of Theo’s car. She moves away from the slam of her door and falls over. Theo rights her and starts the car, shutting his door as quietly as possible.

Dr. Bishop lays a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You’ll take care of her, yes?” He sounds like a father.

He sucks in a startled gasp when he realises that, yes, Mags is his daughter in all but blood. His mind races.

Theo stays silent during his boss’s epiphany, quite enjoying the shock and joy that flashes over Dr. Bishop’s face. “You got it, Dad,” he quips, rolling up the window and zooming out before Dr. Bishop can understand his words.

Hand left in midair, Dr. Bishop stares after the car containing his sick daughter, too stunned to move. He chuckles fondly and returns to work, confident that his son will get Mags home.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Mags rests her head on the cool headrest of her seat, mourning how it warms up almost instantly. She cautiously opens her eyes, relived that her headache is slowly receding. She eyes the air conditioning wistfully, tempted to crank the heat. Theo sends her a warning glance when her hand drifts too close to the dial.

A wracking cough escapes her chest, and she winces both at the sound and the pain.

Somehow, Mags knows she’ll get worse before she gets better.

And she’s still freezing!

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

As the car approaches his house, Theo notices Bashir perched on the front steps, texting on his phone. This brings him back to when he had waited with Amira in that same spot.

Shaking his head to clear it, Theo cuts the gas and steps out of the car. “Hey, Bash,” he greets. “Mags isn’t doing too well.”

Bashir glances to Theo, worry on his face.

Theo is quick to reassure him. “It’s just the flu,” he says. “Keep her hydrated and comfortable. She’ll be fine.”

Bashir nods, head turning to the sound of Mags’s door opening. He rushes to her side, not noticing Theo’s fond smirk.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Feeling bolstered by the Tylenol, Mags stumbles out of the car. Oops. Bad idea. Her legs buckle and she falls. Bashir catches her, thank goodness. He pulls her to his side and brings her inside.

Her eyes explore the white house. The living room has a yellow couch with some blankets neatly folded on an armrest. Is this where Bashir sleeps?

Theo follows her gaze. “That’s where Bash sleeps,” he tells her. He briefly disappears and returns with a bundle of clothes to change into. Taking her arm, he leads her down a hallway to his bedroom.

Once in the bedroom, he points her to the washroom. She enters the washroom and closes the door as Bashir walks in the bedroom.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

As soon as the door shuts behind Mags, Theo pounces. “You like her,” he declares as he starts stripping the bed.

Bashir splutters, flushing. “What? You’re crazy!” Despite all this, he hasn’t denied it.

Theo notices. “She likes you too,” he states, grinning evilly. “You should see the sappy eyes she gives behind your back.” Now they’re putting new sheets on the bed.

“She doesn’t like me like that!” Bashir protests quietly, reaching for the fresh pillowcases. Theo joins him and they start changing the pillowcases.

Theo says nothing, just raises an eyebrow. Bashir slaps his arm. “I’m serious!”

Theo dances out of the way. “So am I,” he sings.

The new-found distance does not deter Bashir. He simply picks up an old pillowcase and biffs it at Theo. Theo catches it and prepares his counterattack.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Having finished changing, Mags opens the door to re-enter the bedroom. She nearly crashes into Theo who is loaded with a pillowcase, arm reared back. She giggles, drawing Bashir’s attention to her.

“How are you feeling?” Bashir asks her, softer than usual. Bless his soul. His eyes scan her from head to toe.

“Better for now,” she responds, heading back to the washroom to retrieve her clothing. She catches a glimpse of her straggly hair, blotchy cheeks, and dark bags in the mirror. She grimaces.

“Ugh. I look like crap,” she groans as Theo approaches with a laundry basket. She gratefully dumps in her sweaty clothing.

_No, you don’t. You’re beautiful,_ Bashir wants to say. How can she think she’s anything but the most dazzling woman on the planet? Everything about her is perfect despite her illness, from her tousled strawberry-blonde hair to her ice-berg blue eyes and her blushing cheeks.

He notices Theo smirking. Did he say that out loud?

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Mags’s blush has nothing to do with her fever. She looks to the floor bashfully, a grin splitting her face. Is that really what Bashir thinks? She risks a peek and sees Theo smirk as Bashir’s eyes widen in realisation and embarrassment.

Theo directs his smirk to her next. Mags knows that everyone wants her and Bashir to get together. Heck, Mags wants them to get together, but she’s sure that Bashir doesn’t feel the same way. But after his blurted-out comment, she’s not so sure anymore.

June begs to differ. _Nut up, Mags,_ she had said. _His lovey-dovey eyes are giving me cavities._ Your _lovey-dovey eyes are giving me cavities. For the love of God, just ask him out. He’ll say yes._

Mags had sent desperate glances to Theo, begging him to help her. But he had taken June’s side. _I have to agree with June,_ he had told her. _He asks questions about you all the time. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he’s really not._

The moment is interrupted when Mags explodes in sneezes. Bashir takes her hand and leads her to the bed. He pulls back the covers, and she gratefully crawls in, eyes drooping already.

Theo had left at some point. He places a glass of ice-water on the table by the bed and kisses her forehead. Mags can’t help but wish Bashir would kiss her too. She shakes her head. _Don’t be ridiculous, Mags. That will never happen._

“I’d better head back to work,” Theo announces. He turns to Bashir. “Call me if you need anything. Tylenol is on the kitchen counter.”

Bashir nods and also turns to leave.

June’s words come back to her. _Nut up, Mags._

So nut up she does.

“Stay.”

Bashir slowly turns back to her, baffled but happy.

“I mean, could you? Stay? You don’t have to, I’m sure you have better things to do…” Mags backtracks. _Geez Mags, when will you learn boundaries? He probably doesn’t want to, he probably has work to do, you probably made him uncomfortable-_

“Of course.”

Mags jumps. Her wide eyes meet his gentle ones. Bashir crawls in on the other side of the bed and reaches for her just as she moves closer. Mags sighs blissfully, sleep creeping up on her.

She’s pressed up to his side. He reaches up and plays with her hair, and she nuzzles into his hand. _Do cats feel this way when they’re butting their heads into our hands?_ Mags wonders, but she doesn’t care either way. She snuggles closer, her nose pressed up against Bashir’s shirt. The scent of warm spices fills her senses.

As she drifts off, she can feel a loving kiss being placed on her forehead. But maybe she’s already dreaming.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Bashir had already turned to leave, but Mags’s plea stops him. It’s not even conscious; his heart roots him to the spot before his brain can catch up. Not paying a smirking Theo any attention, he joins her in bed, pulling the light blanket over them both. He pulls her close and idly plays with her hair. It’s even softer than he had imagined.

Mags snuggles even closer. Her breaths puff against his neck. They’re hot, but not as hot as they must have been an hour earlier, when her fever was higher. When he’s pretty confident that she’s asleep, Bashir presses a gentle kiss on her forehead, heart racing as she smiles in her sleep. He can’t help but stare. Even sick as a dog, Magalie Leblanc is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Then he sees Theo’s phone.

“Get _out_ ,” Bashir hisses under his breath. Theo practically _cackles_ , and an image of him with a pointy hat and broom floats through Bashir’s mind.

Chuckling softly, Theo tiptoes out.

Now alone with a peacefully sleeping Mags, Bashir starts talking. He tells her everything. How he misses his friends. How he prays for them everyday and calls them often, holding his breath until they pick up.

How he adores Dr. Bishop and sees him as a father-figure. That he’d been afraid at first because he doesn’t think he can handle the agony of losing another father. How Dr. Bishop had forced his way through his walls, smiling gently all the while. How he and Amira had discussed Dr. Bishop, crying and hugging each other, promising that he wouldn’t replace their father, but become another one.

He talks about Theo, how he had known they would be friends the second he laid eyes on the pediatrician. How good he is with Amira. How he feels safer than he’s ever felt when he and Theo share a midnight snack and talk about anything and everything. How Theo had comforted him when he admitted that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. How he had comforted Theo when he feared that his absence would scar his children.

He tells her about Amira. How proud he is of his younger sister, how she’s bounced back from all that life has thrown at her. How there’s a mixture of sorrow and joy every time she smiles. Sorrow because Amira is the spitting image of their mother. Joy because she’s finally safe and happy. How the sorrow is slowly being replaced by a bittersweet nostalgia and the pain is fading.

He lets her know that he loves his job here, not just because of the work, but also the people. That he’d do anything for this hospital.

He tells her about his parents. How he wasn’t there the day the bombs fell. How he had held his mother’s cold body, crying for what felt like hours. How he had left her there, alone, and ran from the rapidly approaching regime soldiers, whispering _I’m sorry_ over his shoulder.

That he had found his father, alive. How his father had shoved his own stethoscope into his son’s hands. How his father had told him to run. How he had begged to stay. That his father had beckoned him closer, rising inch by painful inch to drape the stethoscope over his son’s shoulders. How he had sobbed when he couldn’t change his father’s mind. How tight his throat had been as they exchanged their final words.

How he had left his own father to die, sobbing so hard that he had vomited on the dusty floor.

Bashir goes silent after this, trying to match his unsteady breaths to Mags’s slow and even ones until he no longer shudders with each breath. He presses his nose into Mags’s hair, inhaling deeply. Her strawberry shampoo calms him further. Soon, he matches Mags breath for breath. They breathe in unity. Together.

He presses a lingering kiss to her brow, one that lasts much longer than the others. He pulls back and traces her face with butterfly touches. His fingers skim over her closed eyes, her cheeks, her partly open lips. He stares. He so badly wants to kiss her. He lets himself dream.

“I think I’m in love with you, Magalie Leblanc.” His quiet words fill the room. He glances down, sighing in relief when she sleeps on.

He doesn’t tell her all the reasons why he loves her. That would take forever. Instead, he tells her how he knows he’s in love. How he had met her eyes on his first day and vowed never to get on her bad side. How he had broken the vow on that same day, how his eyes had filled with tears when she angrily walked away from him. How he had wanted to chase her and beg for her forgiveness. He tells her how he fell in love slowly, not all at once. How one day she was his friend, and something more the next. How he had started to notice the small things like how she takes her coffee and tucked them in his heart. How butterflies swoop in his stomach every time he sees her.

How he’d follow her anywhere.

Bashir feels lighter than he’s felt in ages. He pulls Mags closer and enjoys the moment. He lets his eyes close and he runs his hands through her soft hair.

The front door opens with a soft beep. He’s beyond grateful that he had thought to text Amira earlier. Light footsteps roam the house, searching for him. Amira pokes her head around the doorframe.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Amira searches the house for her brother. She finally finds him in Theo’s bed, cuddling a very familiar woman. She sighs, wishing they’d just kiss already. She remembers the first time she had told that to her brother. He had spit out his water like they do in the movies. Too bad it was all over her. Ever since that day, she had badgered him after every shift, asking if Mags was there, if he talked to her, if he kissed her-

“Hey, Amira,” Bashir greets his sister quietly, interrupting her thoughts. “Remember Mags?” He and Theo had brought Mags here a few months ago when her car broke down.

Amira lights up. Of course she remembers Mags! The kind doctor had allowed her to draw all over her face in Sharpie. Mags is the sister she has always wanted. Then she looks closer. “She’s sick?” Amira asks in concern.

Bashir nods. “It seems to be a really bad cold. Nothing to worry about, _habibti_.”

Amira nods dubiously, still worried. But she trusts Bashir. If he says it’ll be okay, then it’ll be okay.

“I’m going to take a nap,” her brother tells her. Amira rolls her eyes playfully. Bashir is like an old man; he falls asleep whenever he stops moving. She’s surprised he hasn’t dozed off already.

“You have _one hour_ ,” Amira warns her brother. “We need to make supper after that.”

“Got it,” Bashir responds, closing his eyes. Within ten seconds, his mouth falls open and he begins to snore softly.

Amira rolls her eyes so hard she hopes they don’t fall out of her head. She pulls the blanket around her brother and his colleague (lover) and kisses their brows before taking her leave.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

The first thing Bashir notices upon waking is that he’s hot. Way too hot. But only on his left side. He peers over, still half asleep, and jolts when the source of heat is Mags. Sweat beads on her forehead and rolls down her temple and into her hair.

Now fully awake, Bashir rips the blanket off and puts a hand to Mags’s forehead. Her fever has returned, higher than before. Mags shivers violently then blearily opens her eyes. They’re glassy and unfocused.

“Bash?” she murmurs.

He helps her sit up, wrapping a supporting arm around her. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, the heat nearly burning his skin. “Yeah, it’s me,” he assures her softly. “How are you feeling?”

She vomits on him, answering his question. Bashir winces in sympathy as she heaves again, hot liquid splashing down his top and sweatpants and staining the bedsheets. He reaches over and brings the still-cold water to her lips, encouraging her to rinse her mouth.

Mags starts to cry, tears and snot covering her face. The force of her sobs makes her vomit on the bed again.

Bashir, who had been in the process of changing his shirt, abandons that idea and runs to her. “Hey, hey. Mags, it’s okay,” he soothes her, cradling her to his bare chest. She sobs harder.

Bashir makes his way to the washroom, taking slow, even steps. _Please don’t puke on me, please don’t puke on me, please don’t puke-_

She pukes on him. Fantastic. It’s mostly bile at this point, so at least there’s nothing left. He sits her on the toilet and grabs a facecloth, wetting it and washing Mags’s face. “Shhh,” he murmurs as she tries to apologise. “I’ve got you, Mags.” She goes silent, the occasional shuddering breath shaking her frame. He helps her drink some water. She gulps greedily until he slows her down.

Bashir places her on the cold floor, propping her up against the cupboards. “Just a moment,” he tells her, already sprinting to grab her a change of clothes; hers are sweaty and sprinkled with vomit.

He darts out to the living room to grab some of his comfiest pyjamas, having no idea where Theo keeps his clothing and not feeling like digging through all six drawers in the bedroom. He reminds himself to grab a set of clothing for himself as well. Once in the living room, he vaguely notices Amira glance up, gasping at the sight of her brother shirtless with half-dried vomit on his chest.

“Amira, could you put on some soup for Mags?” he asks her over his shoulder, already rushing back to the bedroom.

Mags is in the same place he left her, curled up and shivering. He brings her back to sit on the toilet seat.

“Is it okay if I help you get changed?” he asks softly, not willing to change her without her explicit consent. Mags nods dazedly, and Bashir instructs her to raise her arms as he removes her top. Thank goodness she’s wearing a bra. He carefully avoids looking at anything he shouldn’t as he helps her into a clean T-shirt. But he can’t help but notice a scar on her left breast. He files this away to ponder later and finishes helping Mags insert her arms in the sleeves.

He touches the hem of her pants. Her pants are also covered in vomit. “Is this okay?” he asks her again. She nods and Bashir expertly lifts her enough to slip the pants off, quickly replacing them with the pyjama bottoms.

Still supporting Mags with one arm, he reaches out and snags the discarded facecloth, hastily cleaning his chest. Once it’s decently clean, he picks Mags up again and heads to the living room.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Mags groans as she wakes. Bashir is already up, peering at her in concern. He lays a hand on her forehead to take her temperature, his face tightening when her blazing heat reaches him. She leans into the cool hand and Bashir leaves it there longer than necessary.

He brings her to sit against him; her head rests under his chin.

He’s asking her how she’s doing. She opens her mouth to answer him, but her churning stomach rudely interrupts her. So instead of a verbal answer, she pukes on him. He jolts in surprise, not expecting that. A cold glass is pressed to her lips and his voice encourages her to rinse. She does.

But she’s not done yet. She vomits again, this time hitting the bed a little as well. Bashir takes it well. He leans her against the headboard and leaves the bed, probably to change. Mags hasn’t felt this helpless since she was a child and in the hospital. Will he bring her to the hospital? Will Dr. Bishop think she’s weak and force her to leave Emergency Medicine again? She starts crying at this thought, her sobs triggering her to vomit again- this time all over herself and the bed. She’s nearly in hysterics.

Then warm arms are around her, a soothing voice in her ear. She cries harder, slightly worried that she’ll be sick again. Bashir picks her up, making her stomach churn again. She rests her ear against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat and trying not to puke.

Oops.

He places her on the toilet seat and starts washing her face. “Bash, I’m sorry, I-”

He hushes her gently and continues running the cool facecloth against her overheated face. She leans in.

Then Bashir places a glass of water in her hands, his own hands helping her bring the glass to her mouth. As soon as the cold water touches her tongue, Mags guzzles it, slowing only when Bashir threatens to take it from her.

Then Bashir brings her to the floor, angling her so the cupboards will support her weight. “I’ll be right back,” he assures her, running a hand through her sweaty hair. Gross.

She slumps against the cupboards, squinting her eyes open. She’s covered in her own vomit. He must be grabbing her another change of clothing. Mags frowns; she’s too weak to change. Maybe he’ll help her?

He’s back, holding some clothes. Wow. Mags had never thought she’d see him shirtless. Now she knows why he always changes in private. Scars criss-cross over his chest, many overlapping each other.

Bashir meets her eyes. “Is it okay if I help you change?” he asks her seriously, not moving a muscle. She’s flattered that he’s asking for her consent and not just changing her like she’s a child. She nods and he immediately instructs her to raise her arms. He stares at her chest. She has the urge to cover herself, cheeks flaming.

Wait. He’s not staring at her breasts. He’s staring at her scar. She relaxes.

Bashir asks again for her consent in removing her pants. She nods again, trusting him enough to close her aching eyes. He’s quick to change her. She’s fully dressed moments later.

He picks her up again, bringing her to the living room. Soon, she’s tucked in with a plastic bowl on the floor by her head. Amira sits in a chair by her head and runs her fingers through her hair. The young girl remains silent, bless her.

Bashir approaches, wearing a shirt, with a bowl of soup. Mags wrinkles her nose at the thought of food. He chuckles.

“Just a little bit,” he wheedles. She groans but reaches for the bowl.

Amira disappears and returns with two more bowls. She and her brother take a bite, then stare at Mags pointedly.

Cautiously, Mags sniffs her soup. It’s certainly not chicken noodle soup, thank goodness. It’s unfamiliar. She wants to try it.

Amira notices her staring. “It’s our Mama’s recipe.”

Now Mags really wants to try it. She takes a tiny bite and smiles. It’s delicious. She carefully eats the whole bowl and sips the ginger ale Bashir had given her to settle her stomach. Then she takes some more medication.

Twenty minutes later, she almost feels human again. With some strength returned to her limbs, Mags wobbles her way over to her go-bag, removing her toothbrush. Bashir points her to another bathroom, and she vigorously brushes her teeth. Twice.

When she returns, Bashir is nowhere to be found. She settles on the couch, exhausted. Brushing her teeth had taken up all her energy. She glances around, confused.

“He’s changing the sheets,” Amira states, not looking up from her math homework.

Theo walks in at that moment. He smiles at seeing Mags more alert than earlier. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better right now. I took some meds… thirty minutes ago,” Mags replies, checking her watch.

Theo scans the room. “Where’s Bash?”

“Changing the sheets,” Mags admits sheepishly.

“Changing the shee- Oh!” Theo realises. He smirks. “Did you get it everywhere?”

“I also puked on Bash. Three times.”

“Nice!” He holds up a hand.

Mags high-fives him, giggling. Amira snorts.

Bashir walks in, eyes narrowing playfully. “What are you high-fiving about?”

“Puking on you,” Mags replies with a straight face.

Bashir sighs loudly. “Might I remind you that you puked all over yourself as well?”

Theo inches closer to Amira as Bashir and Mags banter back and forth. “They’re like an old couple,” he teases. Amira snorts quietly, wholeheartedly agreeing.

Amira hands a bowl of soup to Theo and he practically inhales it, humming in delight as the flavour explodes on his tongue.

They choose to watch _A Dog’s Purpose_ on Netflix. Bashir and Mags are squished in the middle of the couch, with Amira next to Mags and Theo next to Bashir. All four of them are sobbing within thirty minutes. Just as their tears dry and their hearts start to heal, the movie destroys them again, restarting the waterworks. They cling to each other as they fall apart, wailing into each other’s arms.

Even after the movie ends, it takes Mags nearly twenty minutes to re-compose herself. She and Bashir embrace each other and cry, not noticing Amira shaking her head, nor Theo taking a picture. Amira laughs as Theo sticks out his tongue in concentration. Theo glares playfully and heads out to wash the dishes.

“I read the book after watching this for the first time,” Mags gets out. “The ending wasn’t the same!” Fresh tears well up as she remembers how the book ends.

Bashir sniffles pathetically and wipes the last of his tears. “What? How does it end?”

Mags wails, causing Amira to pat her shoulder and Theo to drop a dish.

She eventually regains control and wipes her eyes, chuckling at herself. She yawns and rests her head on Bashir’s arm. He wraps the arm around her and pulls her close. He kisses the top of her head, making her blush faintly. Amira gasps. Theo gasps. Then they start cackling.

Bashir groans, resting his head against Mags’s neck. “Make them stop,” he mutters pleadingly.

Mags giggles. Bashir’s lips curve into a smile. “You’re embarrassing him,” Mags tells the cackling duo. Bashir stares at her, betrayed. “What? _I_ don’t care.” He groans louder.

Amira and Theo’s cackling escalates to full-out belly laughing at Bashir’s betrayed face and Mags’s smug one. They double over, wheezing. Mags watches them fondly.

Theo finally regains some control and checks his watch. “We should head to bed soon. Bash, you and Mags can take my bed. I don’t want to be puked on.”

Mags flushes as Theo winks at her behind Bashir’s back. He had planned this all along, that sneak! She’s not complaining though.

Neither is Bashir. He simply nods and smiles down at Mags, shooting a dirty glare at Theo as he pretends to gag. Amira snorts.

Theo shoos them off the couch. “I can’t believe I’m sleeping on the couch _in my own house_ ,” he complains playfully.

“You could always sleep with Bash and _I_ can take the couch,” Mags quips. “I could cover your carpet in vomit.” Theo grimaces at the thought of his white carpet being stained. Mags waves to him and heads to bed.

“I’m good. Sleep in my bed. There’s no carpet there.” He shifts on the couch, his feet dangling off the end. “Geez, Bash, how do you sleep on this thing? You’re taller than me!”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Bashir deadpans, not sympathetic in the least.

“Is it? Well, since we’re on the topic of talents… no funny business in my bed!” Theo warns, delighting in the dumbfounded expression on Bashir’s face.

Amira high-fives Theo, and they stand back and wait for Bashir to understand the implications.

Bashir finally understands. He chokes, eyes going wide, and turns beet red in seconds. He is beyond grateful that Mags had headed to bed earlier.

“ _Theo!_ ” he finally splutters. Amira snickers and high-fives Theo again.

Then Bashir’s face goes sickly sweet. “Here, let me tuck you in,” he offers, voice dripping in honey. Theo gulps, suddenly fearing for his life. He tries to back away as his friend approaches, sending a desperate look to Amira. She does nothing and watches in excitement, her evil smirk identical to her brother’s.

Without waiting for a response, Bashir pounces and tucks Theo in much tighter than strictly necessary, swaddling him like an infant. With a final smirk, Bashir heads to bed, leaving the living room light on.

“Bash!” Theo calls after him. He squirms but can’t escape the blanket. There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep with the light shining directly in his face. Theo turns desperate eyes to Amira. “Please, Amira. Help.”

Amira snorts but takes mercy on him, expertly freeing Theo from the confines of the blanket. She even turns the light off as she heads to bed.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

Mags wakes up vomiting. She rolls over slightly, grimacing as her face and hair drag through her mess. There’s no way she’ll be able to get to the washroom. Weakly, she shakes Bashir. He stirs, reaching up to rub his eyes like a child.

She shifts closer. “Bash,” she whispers urgently. She retches, unable to say anything more. Mags doesn’t even have the strength to move her head and she hurls on Bashir’s face and in his hair.

That wakes him up. He opens his eyes, taking in Mags’s condition and grimacing as vomit drips down his face.

“Bash, I’m so sorry,” Mags starts, but her gag cuts her off. Instantly, she’s in Bashir’s arms and being rushed to the washroom.

They don’t quite make it.

“Stay here,” Bashir orders softly. Mags nods miserably, resting her head on the cold porcelain. She leans over and heaves, but only bile comes up.

Bashir returns with Theo and a tall glass of water. Theo turns on the light, softly apologising as Mags moans.

A damp facecloth wipes her face clean. Mags leans into the wondrous coolness, letting it soothe her pounding head.

Mags is boiling now, and she laughs humourlessly at the thought of being cold. Her bones ache. Her hair is plastered to her face by sweat. She reaches up to move her hair, but a firm hand stops her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Bashir advises.

Mags stares at him in confusion but lowers her hand, trusting him wholeheartedly. She accepts the water gratefully, taking greedy gulps. Her stomach rolls, and she slows down.

Theo, who had been cleaning the floor, reaches over her shoulder to flush the toilet. He rests a hand on her forehead then snatches it back.

“We need to cool her down,” Theo is murmuring to Bashir, voice low and urgent. Mags is too busy trying to keep the water in her stomach to care.

She groans and doubles over as another cramp hits. A lock of hair falls into her face. It’s cold and damp, encrusted in yellow vomit. Mags drops the glass, frigid water seeping in through her clothes.

The floor comes up to meet her, but Bashir’s strong arms interrupt. Mags stares up at him. He stares back gently, not caring about the yellow flecking his hair and face. Mags recoils in disgust and vomits again. It splatters on his jaw and shirt.

She starts crying in earnest, burying her face in her hands.

Bashir removes his wet shirt and cradles her to his chest. “It’s okay, Mags,” he soothes her. “I’m not mad. It’s okay, we’ve got you.” Bashir continues with his sweet nothings, running his fingers through her soiled hair to calm her. Her sobs slow and stop and she relaxes, letting his fingers in her hair lull her closer to sleep.

Bashir exchanges words with Theo, his voice rumbling under her ear. Theo starts a bath.

Bashir sits her on the toilet. Mags whines at the loss of contact. He grips her shoulders lightly. “Mags? We need to cool you down and wash your hair. We’re going to give you a bath. Is that okay?”

She nods, barely tipping her head and trying to aggravate it as little as possible.

Theo must have left, because her go-bag is in his hands. He crouches in front of her. “Do you have another change of clothes?” He squeezes her shoulders when she takes too long to respond. “Mags?”

She opens her mouth to respond but can’t form the words. Her eyes widen in panic.

“Okay, Mags, you’re doing great,” Theo soothes as her breathing rate picks up. “I’m gonna ask you a different question then. Is it okay if I look through your bag?”

That she can answer. She nods sluggishly. Theo carefully sifts through her bag, seemingly looking for something.

He leans in and whispers to Bashir, who nods and turns off the water.

Bashir hands her a towel. “Let’s get you undressed and into the tub. You can leave your underclothes on and wrap this around yourself. Okay?” That must be why Theo wanted to look through her bag.

“Okay,” she whispers. Bashir helps her out of her shirt. She winces as it peels off her skin. As promised, he leaves her bra on and gently wraps her in a towel.

“Can you get your pants off yourself?” he asks. Mags shakes her head. “Okay. Can I help you?” She nods wearily.

He opens the towel slightly and helps her out of her pants, quickly closing it again. He lifts her bridal-style and sets her in the tub, her back facing the faucet. She frowns in confusion but leaves it.

Bashir’s gentle voice is asking her to tip her head back. She tries but slips, her whole body tipping.

Mags flails wildly, but Bashir catches her. He slips in behind her and pulls her into his lap. He lays her head on his left shoulder and tilts to the right, leaving the spout and the cold handle open. He runs the cold water to wet a facecloth. So _that’s_ why he had her sit like this.

“Theo?” Bashir calls softly.

Theo pops his head in moments later, for once not smirking. “What’s up, Bash?”

“Could you hand me the glass and some shampoo?”

“Of course.” Theo hands Bashir the requested items and heads out.

Bashir lathers up the facecloth in soap and gently touches Mags’s arm. “May I?”

She nods, and he lifts her arm, carefully washing away any traces of sweat and vomit.

They repeat this for her other arm. Then her chest. Then her neck.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Bashir says. He lets Mags’s hair fall over his shoulder and runs water over it using the glass. Once her hair is sufficiently wet, he lathers it with shampoo. He tips her head back and covers her eyes with one hand as he rinses her hair with the other, clumsily running his fingers through it. Then he repeats it until her hair squeaks.

“Perfect,” he breathes, kissing Mags lightly on the top of her head. He places his palm on her forehead, noting the lowered fever with relief. “Theo?”

Theo appears, and the two men whisper for a moment. Theo nods, and lifts Mags out of the tub, bringing her into the bedroom. He wraps her in a large towel that reaches her knees, and she lets the wet one drop.

She yawns, feeling much better. Theo chuckles and tosses a small towel on her head, toweling her hair dry.

“Are you okay to get dressed by yourself?” he asks her after a minute.

She is.

Theo hands Mags her extra underclothes and steps out to give her privacy. She sniffs the clothes handed to her. They’re Bashir’s. Maybe Theo knows that she’d rather wear Bashir’s clothes than his.

The bedsheets are clean, so she snuggles in and gets comfy. Theo chuckles as he returns with another change of clothes. Mags’s brow furrows in confusion, she’s already dressed.

“Bash needs some clothes, too,” Theo tells her, then opens the door and walks in.

Bashir shrieks higher than Amira. Theo screams higher than his daughters. Amira runs in, eyes darting around wildly.

Mags giggles and beckons Amira over. The young girl relaxes at seeing no danger and joins her in bed. “I think Theo has learned that he should always knock,” Mags whispers, pointing to the washroom door where Theo is still screaming. Amira belly-laughs and falls over.

Theo runs out, face white. “When will I _learn_ ,” he moans. “This is the third time!”

“Since they moved in?” Mags asks curiously.

Theo shakes his head. “This _week._ ”

Mags bursts into laughter. She can’t stop. She and Amira clutch each other, gasping for breath. “You’re… _pathetic_ ,” she gets out.

“That he is,” Bashir agrees as he emerges from the washroom. He towers over Theo then shakes his head like a dog, spraying him with water.

Theo splutters and raises his hands to defend himself. Amira and Mags dissolve into giggles again as Bashir chases Theo around the room, spraying him with water.

Amira yawns widely. “It’s only 4 in the morning. I’m going to sleep.” With that, she leans her head against Mags’s chest and closes her eyes.

Mags pulls her closer and closes her eyes as well. Warm arms wrap around her. She cracks an eye open to see Bashir’s face inches from her own. They smile at each other. Theo kisses her and Amira on their foreheads and flicks Bashir between the eyes, still miffed about Bashir’s brief dog impersonation. Then he settles behind Mags, reaching around her to hold Bashir’s hands.

That’s how Dr. Bishop and Claire find them three hours later, having come to check on Mags. Claire rests her head on Dr. Bishop’s shoulder and they simply watch for a minute, shaking their heads fondly at their children. They lightly kiss each of their children’s foreheads. Then they head out.

But not before they take a picture.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all my Transplant peeps who have commented and/or written. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. Reading your comments/stories keeps me going. Hope you all are doing well.
> 
> Also, if Nyx and Nite! are reading, I couldn't find y'all to gift this. Sorry about that mates.


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